


Richie Swears He Isn’t Alice (but things do get wonderful)

by hardlylurking



Series: What Happens in Derry (is hard to explain) [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Everybody Lives, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Rated T for Trashmouth, because stanley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 19:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21184496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlylurking/pseuds/hardlylurking
Summary: After Richie discovers that he and Bev are having shared visions as a result of the Deadlights, he finds himself back in Derry for another terrifying time.Or, Richie discovers that it’s not about how deep you go into the closet, it’s about the friends you find along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the fingers that typed this.

It’s the tenth night that Richie has closed his eyes to sleep only to open them and find himself in a slick gray tunnel leading into inky blackness. 

“Oh, not this shit again.” he mutters, body already tensing in anticipation.

Sure enough, emerging from the darkness comes the eerie squeaking of rusty wheels on iron rails and an aged wooden mine cart slows to a stop before his trembling knees. He steels himself and looks inside.

_ Trashmouth _is written on the bottom of the cart in a viscus dark liquid that Richie desperately tries to tell himself isn’t blood. 

“Don’t do it, dumbass. Don’t do it, it’s the fucking clown, you know it’s the fucking clown.” Almost against his will Richie finds himself lifting one long leg and then the other into the cart, crouching inside while trying not to think of whose blood might be soaking into the seat of his pants. The cart begins slowly rolling back the way it came.

Richie can never keep track of how long he rides in the cart, nothing but darkness and the creaking of the wheels to keep him company. He tries to decide if the build up is supposed to make him terrified. It doesn’t. He’s just bored. 

After what feels like an eternity, Richie realizes he can make out his knees in front of his face. The tunnel is gradually brightening, dark grays becoming light grays, becoming colors at last. This has never happened before. Usually by this time, Richie has either panicked himself awake at the sight of the cart or fallen into a deeper sleep during the long journey down the tunnel. 

As he rolls slowly onwards he sees that there is a destination. He is approaching a softly lit circular room with openings on all sides. The closer he gets the more he can make out, the tracks coming from each opening, and more alarmingly, the dark shape swiftly climbing out of a stopped cart in the center.

He gets ready, ducking low and out of sight. He tugs off his belt as the cart clicks and squeaks its way into the room, coming to a jolting stop catty corner to the other. Richie takes three quick breaths, swings his folded belt like a lasso, and lunges out of the cart screaming a war cry into the open air. His foot catches on the lip as the shadowy figure leaps back and he finds himself flat on his back staring up into a familiar pale face, a startled expression gazing down at him from a short bob of messy red hair.

Richie gazes up in shock before starting. “Bev? What the..”

  
  


“...fuck!” he exclaims, his blankets sliding off his torso as he shoots up in bed.

As his heart rate slows, he takes in the room around him, drenched in the early morning twilight. The tangled sheets, the clothes crumbled around the bed, a duffle bag spewing its contents along his floor, and two suitcases tightly closed in his open closet. He’s back in his apartment in Los Angeles.

“Shit.” He digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to push out the last of the adrenaline from the dream. He slides his hands down his face, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. His eyes drift to the closest suitcase. 

He can’t help staring at it, even though he knows he should throw it away. He could open it, the contents clear in his mind. The neatly pressed shirts, carefully ironed pants, and the medicine, god, the bottles and bottles of pills just waiting to be seen. He turns away and picks up his phone instead. There is one new message in the group chat, eight hours ago from Bill.

_ Filming finally wrapped. Heading back to England, bets on my wife letting me in the house? _

Richie snorts, internally calculating the odds. 

He has seen Bill’s wife Audra in movies and she is, unfortunately for Big Bill, way out of his league. Bill is rich, talented, and a sweet talker, but Richie had seen him in his underwear one too many times growing up to call that relationship equal. Audra is a stone cold fox- although she had nothing on a petite brunette with dark brown eyes and an alarmingly short fuse.

_ I hope you’re enjoying Couch City, Bill. Anyone up? _ Richie texts. He can still feel the darkness of the tunnel clinging to his consciousness, and anything is better than thinking about Edd-

_ Just woke up. What’s on your mind, Trashmouth? _ Bev responds near instantly. Richie latches on to the distraction from the direction his thoughts were heading.

_ Bev, the woman of my dreams! How is my favorite redhead? _ He types out.

_ The only dream I’ve had of you, you’re a flailing mess, Tozier. Even in my nightmares you can’t touch this. _ Well that was... probably a coincidence, right? Even still, Richie has to check. He scrolls through his contacts to Bev’s number and presses the button for FaceTime.

Bev picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey Richie, how are you doing?” The camera is softly focused on her face, her red curls still matted from sleep. In the background he spies a navy shower curtain and a porcelain bathtub.

“You sneak out on your man just to phone sex with little old me? Bev, I’m flattered.” Richie gives the camera a lopsided grin, his eyes squinty from the lack of glasses and the bright light of the screen.

Bev chuckles. “You know, I feel like between the two of us I should be the one worrying about you and Ben.”

“Now Bev, what happens on FaceTime stays on FaceTime. I would never tell you what Ben and I get up to while you’re sleeping. I don’t kiss and tell.” Richie quips back. “Speaking of sleeping, tell me more about how your nighttime fun with dream-me. Belt off, on his back?” He leans in, trying for casual but falling short.

“Richie, are you-” Bev’s face loses the amused expression she had been sporting, quickly taking on a serious tone, “-are you dreaming about the mine?”

“Shit.” Richie answers, stomach sinking. “It’s happening again.”

  
  


Ten days after the dreams started and barely a month after leaving Derry for the last time, the Losers are discussing going back.

“No, no, and no. I am not going back to that hellhole.” Richie says, leaning back on his ratty couch and angling the laptop screen away from the stacks of takeout containers on his coffee table. He saw the looks he got when he first picked up the video conference and he wasn’t about to let them see the full effects of his post-Derry breakdown.

“I’m sorry, Richie, but you have to admit it’s a possibility. The tunnels, the blood, you and I sharing dreams?” Beverly points out, “We’re the only ones who’ve looked into the Deadlights. These dreams might be left over visions trying to bring us back.”

“We killed that fucking clown. I know we did. Eddie didn’t die for fucking nothing, alright? I can’t have lost-” Richie cuts himself off, voice breaking.

The others wait in silence as he pulls himself together. He doesn’t like that knowing silence and he especially doesn’t like the way they are looking at him, like he’s a wounded animal that needs immediate intervention to survive. 

Sure, he hasn’t shaved since he got back from Derry and his eyes are a squinty combination of red rimmed and baggy, but it’s not like they know why. There is no way they could know that the reason he can’t shave is because all he sees when he looks at his own face are Eddie’s bloody fingerprints wrapped along the corner of his jaw. They will never get Richie to admit that he’s only had the dream ten times because the other nights he hasn’t slept at all, catnapping his way through the day and drinking himself into oblivion at night.

The remaining Losers have no business looking at Richie like that. Like they can read his soul from halfway across the country through a computer screen. Time for a subject change. “Mike, you told us that if It was still alive we wouldn’t remember. Well I definitely fucking remember, so what the fuck is going on?”

When the video cuts over, Mike looks mildly annoyed at being put on the spot. “Look, you guys know as much as I do. My life’s research, the Ritual of Chud, didn’t work. It was our combined belief that was able to transform It into something we could beat. I’d love to promise that this isn’t the clown, but at this point I think anything is on the table here.”

“So what do we do? It doesn’t seem like we’re going to be able to ignore this.” Back to Bev, her head resting lightly on Ben’s arm.

Mike steeples his fingers under his chin. “We could try to use it. We willed It small, maybe if we get back to Derry, we can do it again.”

The screen cuts to Bill as he adds, “Mike is right. In Derry, what we imagined became reality. I think that, if Bev believes the tunnels are in Derry then they are going to be there.”

It shouldn’t make any sense, but in some backwards way it does. If Bill’s theory on the magic of Derry is right, simply thinking that the tunnels are there will make it come true.

Richie rubs at his eyes for a second before pasting on a grin. “Fuck it. Grab your balls, guys and Bev. Looks like we’re going back to the damn circus.”

As he opens up a new tab to start booking his flight he adds, “If all our wishes are coming true here, there better be a hot piece of ass waiting in my hotel when I get there.”

  
  


Richie is the first back in Derry. The first to check back into that damn townhouse with its lack of a bartender or staff of any kind. Now that he thinks about it, hauling his duffle bag into the lobby, he’s not sure he was ever charged for his stay here a month ago.

He reaches over the check in counter and snags the same key he used in his previous stay. And then slide it back and grabs the one for Eddie’s... for a different room. Why see the same view twice, right?

Ascending the staircase Richie pauses, starts to turn around, and thinks better of it. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he chews his lip until he forces himself to continue. _ Eddie wouldn’t mind, _ he tells himself.

He crosses to the doorway and jams the key into the lock, trying not to flinch at the creak of old hinges. The door opens onto the scene he both hoped for and dreaded. An unmade bed, bandages spread across the bedside table, and a bloody shower curtain lying across the threshold of the bathroom. 

“Well I guess it’s official. Nobody fucking works here.” He steps into the room gingerly, as if one wrong move could shake the illusion and send him into the tidy hotel room he knows he should be in. He looks at the bed, still holding the indent on the pillow from Eddie’s last night alive.

Richie shakes, starts to reach out and crosses his arms. He throws his bag into the room and closes the door, unable to look at the rumpled sheets for even a moment longer. Rubbing under his glasses he makes a decision. “I need a drink.”

Hustling back down to the lobby, Richie tries not to think of the room above him. Tries to ignore the smell of Eddie that had still gently lingered in the air, long after the man himself was gone.

He lets himself behind the bar and helps himself to a bottle of top shelf whiskey. After throwing two fingers back and pouring himself a generous second on the rocks, he grabs his glass and folds himself into one of the antique armchairs to wait out the other Losers.

Pulling out his phone he sends the group a quick picture of the empty bar with the caption “The bartender gave me a drink on the house, can you believe it?” The others all send him back their travel status, essentially amounting to a “We’ll see you tomorrow, Trashmouth.”

He supposes it had been a bit hasty to book a flight one hour after their call straight into Bangor. It had just made sense, his duffle still mostly packed and ready to go. Now he’s paying the price, as he sits in this fake-ass AirBnB with nobody but himself for company. Richie knows, he just knows, that if Pennywise isn’t about to jump out and gaybash him again then some previously unseen but now entirely expected new thing is going to scare the shit out of him and make him regret coming back here.

As if on queue, there is a loud slam as the door under the staircase swings open. “Nope, not happening. Nice try, you homophobic clown. Trashmouth is not taking the bait. No, siree.” Richie turns back to his drink, keeping the open door in his eyeline.

From the opening came a familiar metallic squeal, the rhythmic sound of a cart coming down a track. As it comes into view, Richie explodes out of his seat, crossing to the wall farthest from the stairwell.

“No means no! I am not going over there, fuck that.”

The cart comes to a stop and for a few moments the room is silent. Richie paces manically, tugging at his hair and downing the last of his liquid courage. “I’m not doing it. I’m not gonna do it. Strange rides showing up in Harry Potter’s bedroom are going nowhere fun.”

Richie crosses the foyer, grabbing the bottle off the bar as he goes, ready to smash the hell out anything moving on the other side of the doorway. As he closes the distance, he sees the smooth stone walls from the dream but nothing else waiting for him in the darkness. He looks in the cart, not surprised to see _ Trashmouth _scrawled in shiny dark liquid across the wood.

“Damn it.” He looks from the cart to the door and back before making a decision. Setting his bottle of Tullamore inside, he goes back to the sitting room and grabs an armchair. After firmly wedging it under the door, he runs his hands through his hair trying to talk himself down.

“Just for a minute. Just to prove that it’s all a coincidence. One quick look and then right back up to the surface. Right back up because we don’t need to explore another fucking labyrinth full of nightmares and clowns, right?” Richie tries to convince himself as he settles into the cart.

Cringing, he discovers as he places his hands at his sides that his bloody nickname really is still tacky and wet. He tries to wipe his hands off on his shirt to little effect. The second the cart starts its slow roll into the darkness that he knows he is lying to himself. He isn’t coming back up until he is sure they really had killed that fucking clown.

  


After the seemingly endless ride eased its way into the softly lit rail yard, Richie, much more dignified this time, clamors out of the cart. Just like in his dream, Bev’s cart is here, his own lightly bumping against it before coming to a full stop. Unlike his dream, there is no red-haired terror lurking in the shadows trying to give him a heart attack.

Just in case, he peers over the edge of her cart. Inside he can see that it is empty except for the words _ January Embers _ written on the bottom. He leans in and touches them, finding blood once again. He tries to rub it off on his jeans, but the viscous liquid clings stubbornly to his fingers.

He looks around, his footsteps echoing loudly in the tall cylindrical space he has been taken to. It reminds him of the cistern, if the cistern wasn’t full of garbage, dirty water, and dead kids. The walls continue up further than he can see, much higher than they could have gone if he really was under the townhouse. From above comes a gloomy light, illuminating the space but not quite chasing away the shadows inside.

Richie looks at the evenly spaced tunnels along the walls. “Well, now what?” he asks the empty air, not sure if he wants to hear a reply.

After standing in silence long enough to confirm he wasn’t going to get an answer, Richie strips off his jacket and puts it in front of the tunnel he came from to mark his exit. He’d love to trust his good buddy, blood cart, to give him a painfully slow ride out of here, but someone sent him that thing and he’s not about to get trapped if they come and take it back.

He waits for a few more minutes, hoping for a sign telling him where to go next, before choosing at random. Snagging the whiskey bottle on his way, he sends up a quick prayer.

“I’m not asking for much. No dogs this time. No living torsos or fucking were-pomeranians. If there has to be something, how about this time let’s skip the dead kid? Send me something nice, like a hot dude.”

Richie starts down the tunnel to his left, doing his best to think happy thoughts as he makes his way into the darkness.

  


It’s funny. He thought this would be terrifying, walking for hours into the unknown, but quickly the adrenaline wears off and, much like the cart ride, he is just bored. He sings to himself, recites his latest special, and considers drinking the rest of the booze but ultimately decides against it. It would be his luck to get drunk and turned around and end up lost down here forever.

He hopes if the other Losers come looking for him that they bring some snacks, maybe a few bottles of water. Then he remembers that he forgot to leave a note about where he was going. Hopefully nobody shuts the door..

Just as he is about to give up and head back he sees it.

_ Not Scary At All. _ There, at the end of the tunnel, set into a gray cement wall is the aged white wood door from his nightmares.

“Oh, come on! I asked! I fucking asked and this is what you give me?!” Richie shouts into the dark. 

Well, he’s come too far to back out now.

He reaches for the doorknob with his left hand, readying the bottle in his right. He pushes the door open and lunges into the next room, eyes squinting as he is blinded by the bright light inside.

“What the fuck?!” comes a familiar voice, and as his eyes adjust he sees him.

It’s Eddie. Eddie is standing there, across the room from him. Eddie is standing there and he looks exactly the same as he saw him last, back when he was lying in a pool of his own blood down in the cistern. Or maybe not the same. As he eyes that familiar chest he sees that there is no gash, splattering and oozing, impossible to stop but he has to, he has to…

It only takes Richie a second to decide its a trick. It’s done this to him before, back when he was a kid. He shouldn’t be surprised It’s doing it again. He raises the bottle up, ready to bring it down and end this once and for all.

“Seriously?! Are you serious Rich? You died by drinking yourself to death in that shitty Hawaiian shirt? You are such a mess, I swear I don’t know how you managed to outlive me.”

He tries to tune It out, moving closer so he can cover that pink mouth. This would be so much easier if he didn’t have to hear that voice.

“Don’t touch me! Is that blood on your hands?! Don’t you fucking touch me, Trashmouth. I mean it.” Eddie jumps back throwing his hands out in front of him, voice rising dramatically in pitch.

It doesn’t make sense. It was always trying to lure him closer, trying to trick him into making himself a quick snack. Why would It back off with it’s prey right in front of it?

Richie tries to think. If this person, this living, breathing, Eddie-shaped person is so upset about germs, that they would risk letting Richie get away, then… Richie drops the bottle, narrowly missing his own foot in the process.

“Eddie?”

It’s like all the color suddenly flooded back into the world all at once. Richie doesn’t care that it sounds cliche. It’s true. Eddie is here. Eddie is alive and breathing and here in front of him.

His eyes rake over Eddie’s exasperated face and suddenly it is too much. It is way too much for Richie to handle. He doesn’t even realize he has started sobbing until the sound of his loud gasps overtakes the rushing in his ears.

Eddie moves closer, tilting his face up to make eye contact with Richie’s tear-filled face. “Rich? Hey, Richie, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, Chee.”

He can’t stop his hands from reaching. Lifting the hem of Eddie’s shirt and running shaking fingers up and down the smooth skin underneath. He can’t believe Eddie is letting him, his hands still smeared with blood from his ride in the mine cart.

He closes the small gap between them and buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder, glasses digging into the muscle there as he tries to calm himself. Eddie runs his free hand through Richie’s hair, whispering soothing words.

When Richie finally catches his breath he pulls away, one hand still fisting the bottom of Eddie’s now bloody hoodie, he tries to take everything in. In front of him is Eddie, whole and alive, left hand still resting comfortingly on Richie’s neck, right hand hanging down to hold small fingers. Richie’s eyes follow them down before landing on their owner and stopping in shock.

“Georgie?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finds himself in the afterlife and learns how to live. At least until a certain curly-haired idiot arrives.

The last thing Eddie remembers, he had finally gotten a good one over Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, king of the your mom jokes. It might not have been a fair win, what with Richie desperately pressing his jacket to the gaping hole in his sternum while choking out sobbing promises of “You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.” But Eddie is going to take that win with him to the grave. 

Which, actually might be where he is right now.

Thinking back on it, he supposes there are other last words that might have been better. Things that expressed the sudden blinding flashbacks that hit him in the Chinese restaurant. That sense memory of Richie’s warm lanky body pressing against his in the hammock, the feeling of blinding terror changing into something else as a strong hand forced him to meet brown eyes magnified far past their actual size, the crippling sadness of watching a station wagon drive up the street and out of Derry, never coming back.

Eddie hadn’t known, after the call from Mike, after the car accident, why he felt like he had to pack up his entire life for this trip. Thankfully Myra had gotten back from her book club meeting as he was carrying his bags to the car, rather than when he was carefully packing his birth certificate, passport, and financial documents. Eddie had rationalized that it was because he couldn’t remember, so he needed to be prepared for anything. That lasted until about five minutes into meeting the other Losers.

Eddie had walked into the Jade of the Orient as a man in a comfortable, safe relationship with his wife. Then the love of his life had burst in with a stupid grand entrance and a stupider grin on his face and fucked all that up. Staring at those familiar features that he really had finally grown into, Eddie wanted. Eddie had pushed down the stab of heartbreak when Richie started talking about getting married, pushed it down until he didn’t need to anymore because it turns out Richie was just doing another stupid bit at his mother’s expense.

That night Eddie had gone back to the hotel and called his lawyer. He wasn’t holding out hope that Richie “Fucked Your Mom” Tozier wanted him that way, but he also wasn’t going to stay in a relationship with a woman who he suddenly couldn’t picture without seeing the screaming face of his own mother. There are limits to how far their marriage of convenience could be stretched.

Next he called Myra and, after listening to her sobbing and cursing over the phone for a few minutes, reminded her of their deal. They had agreed to get married if they both hadn’t met anyone by 30. It made sense, they were both lonely people and their neuroses complemented each other.

Throughout their marriage Eddie and Myra had been careful to keep their assets fully separate. Their house had belonged to Myra’s mother, and was therefore hers. Their cars belonged to their respective drivers and they shared no joint bank accounts. Even their in prenuptial agreement it was clear that if either wanted out then the union would be considered fully dissolved.

After getting a furious, and admittedly rightly so, Myra to agree to sign the papers, Eddie put in an indefinite leave of absence at his office. He told them it was for a family emergency because ‘leaving to fight a murder clown’ didn’t sound like something his boss would sign off on.

Thinking back on this now, Eddie realizes it could be months before anyone in New York even wonders if something happened. No real friends, no wife, and no boss hunting him down.

Eddie supposes it says a lot about his life that he is spending the afterlife in a dirty bedroom in Derry instead of the immaculate brownstone he and Myra shared in Chelsea.

He looks around, taking in the dirty clothes, the band posters haphazardly hanging from the walls, and the barely hidden bong peeking out of the closet. Apparently his heaven looks a lot like Richie’s childhood bedroom.

He briefly hopes that Richie is here with him, but knows it’s far too quiet for that to be possible. At least that means Richie is- hopefully- still alive.

After searching the house and finding no other occupants, Eddie heads outside. The sun is high in the sky, but there is no bird song or cars on the street. Checking the houses nearby, Eddie is forced to consider the idea that he may be completely alone here.

Well, maybe not completely alone. If he really is dead and trapped in Derry, there might be someone who has beaten him here. He pictures Stan’s curly hair and perpetual serious expression. Eddie walks over and opens the shed, grabbing Richie’s bike. Time to go find the last Loser.

He slows as he pedals past Bill’s house. Memories flood in, just like they had in real Derry. He and Bill fixing Silver on the lawn, Stan scowling at some beep worthy joke Richie had told, Richie on the porch with his soft dark curls still tousled from a swim in the quarry. Eddie shakes his head. There will be plenty of time to remember after he finds Stan, he reminds himself.

As he turns away, his eyes catch a flicker of movement. A twitch in one of the upstairs curtains. For a brief moment, Eddie panics, mind already powering through a myriad of possibilities, most featuring the word clown. It doesn’t really make sense though, why would Pennywise be here if he was dead? But then, if not It, then who?

He’s pounding up the porch steps before the thought even finishes. If Stan could be here, then that means-

“Georgie! Georgie Denbrough, is that you? Are you here?!” Eddie slams through the front door, shouting. As he is racing across the front room towards the steps, a pale face looks down at him through the railings.

“Who are you?”

And it is, it is Georgie, with his soft, high-pitched voice. Eddie is almost to the top of the stairs when he sees that Georgie is backing away, an expression of distrust on his tiny face.

“Hey, Georgie. It’s me, Eddie.” When there is no flicker of recognition he adds, “Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill’s friend, remember?”

“You’re old. Eddie isn’t old. Eddie is like Billy.”

At this Eddie is stumped. He racks his brain trying to think of something, anything that can convince Georgie to trust him.

“We’re all old now, Georgie. Me, and Billy, and Stan, and Richie. We all got old.” Eddie pulls out his smartphone, thankfully still intact despite its trip through the sewers. “I can show you what we look like now, if you want?”

Georgie moves closer to see, still skeptical. “What is that?”

“It’s a smartphone. Something they made after you- after we got old.”

Eddie opens the Loser’s group chat, scrolling to a picture Richie had sent. Georgie watches him fascinated and, on seeing the photo, points to the man in the middle.

“That’s Billy?”

“Yes, and there’s Richie, and this is me, here on the end.”

“He looks like Daddy.”

Eddie struggles to remember for a moment before saying, “Yeah, yeah I guess he does.”

Georgie leans into him, resting his head on Eddie’s arm to get closer to the image.

“Where’s Stannie?”

Eddie grins. “He couldn’t make it, so I think he might be here. Well, at his house, but here with us. I’m going there next if you want to join me.”

“Can I really?”

He looks at Georgie again, taking him in. He isn’t wearing the raincoat, instead he’s in a striped shirt and overalls. He is also wearing what looks like, and may actually be, decades worth of grime. He tries not to think about how dirty his sleeve is going to be when Georgie sits back up.

“I’ll make you a deal. If you shower, I’ll even let you ride my bike.”

Georgie tilts his head up, a smile spreading his cheeks wide. “Okay, deal. You really are Eddie.”

Eddie leads the way to Stan’s house, holding the back of the bike while Georgie works the pedals.

They pass the main street and still don’t see anyone. He wonders what it was like for Georgie, out here alone for so long.

“Georgie, have you ever seen anyone else here?”

“Nope.” Georgie replies, lips dragging the ‘p’ into a popping sound. “It was really, really, really, boring until you got here, Eddie. I played with all my toys and all of Billy’s and I played in the woods and the arcade and there was never nobody else to play with.”

Eddie frowns. “You’ll have Stan and I to play with soon, no more playing alone for you.”

They arrive at the Uris household and Eddie lifts Georgie off the bicycle and onto his hip.

“Hey Stannie, it’s me, Georgie!” Eddie almost drops him, tilting his head away from the sudden deafening screech.

They wait a minute but Stan doesn’t come out. “Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

“I can yell louder!”

“No!” Eddie stops him quickly. “Let’s just check inside, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

They search the house, Eddie trying to turn it into a game for Georgie, jumping into each room with a “Boo!” before moving to the next one. They don’t find Stan so they head out on the porch.

Georgie looks a little upset, so Eddie suggests, “Maybe he’s out. We can check all of his favorite places.”

Georgie bounces on his feet, grinning, so Eddie takes his hand and they go on.

After checking the clubhouse, the arcade, and the school with no luck, Eddie takes them to his last guess, the synagogue.

They open the doors and walk down the aisle, checking each row before they reach the bema at the front. Eddie takes a quick look in the back office, trying not to shudder at the portrait still hanging on the wall before heading back. 

He sighs. “I guess that’s that then. He isn’t here. He must have gone somewhere besides Derry.” He starts for the door, before noticing that Georgie wasn’t following behind.

Georgie stands between the pews, his head tucked toward his chest, shoulders shaking. “Can I- Eddie, can I still play with you?” Hs breath is jagged and he sniffles, swiping a hand under his nose. “I don’t want to play by myself anymore.”

Eddie crosses back and drops to his knees, bringing his face level with Georgie’s. “Hey, buddy. Let’s make another deal, okay? As long as you want to stay with me, you can. Okay? Is that fair?”

He reaches out and strokes his thumbs under Georgie’s eyes, wiping away the tears that had formed. Georgie grabs his hands in his smaller ones and his gaze jumps to Eddie’s, trying to gauge his sincerity.

At last he says with a smile, “Deal, Eddie.” 

After inspecting the Denbrough house and finding it not up to his minimum standards of cleanliness, Eddie packs up Georgie’s things and moves them to the Townhouse. He had considered his mother’s house, for familiarity if nothing else, but ultimately dismissed it as too full of memories.

At first he puts Georgie in Bill’s room, thinking it only fitting, but after a few weeks of waking up with Georgie tucked into his side, he gives up and they officially share. They raid the houses of Derry for decorations and games, transforming the Townhouse from hotel to home.

The two of them quickly fall into a routine. Every morning Eddie wakes up and cooks breakfast for the two of them before packing their lunches. After Georgie comes down they head off on an adventure in town. In the evenings they sit in the lounge and play games or tell stories until Eddie declares it time for baths and bed.

It’s soothing and domestic. Eddie wonders if this is what it would have been like if he and Myra- or maybe someone else, someone with thick glasses and a terrible sense of humor- had decided to have kids.

It’s hard to keep track of time in this strange, otherworldly version of Derry. The days blend into months, maybe even years. Eddie might be dead, but he has Georgie and they are happy.

Eddie and Georgie are putting together a puzzle on the worn coffee table in the sitting room when it happens. The door to the cleaning supply room blows open behind him, slamming into the wall and startling the players.

“What the fuck?!” He exclaims, rushing to his feet and pulling Georgie out of sight behind him as he turns to confront the man rushing into the room.

He feels his breath catch as he takes in the sight of Richie, Hawaiian shirt, chunky glasses, and all, squinting in the foyer. His eyes comb over his frame, seeing the laugh lines at his eyes and mouth. He’s lost weight, Eddie thinks suddenly, and something in his stomach twists as he considers that he be the reason. He can’t stop looking though, cataloging all the differences since the last time they saw each other. They could have stood in silence forever if Richie hadn’t lifted the bottle in his hand.

Eddie is suddenly furious. He’d died in that cistern knowing that Richie was going to live, that they were all going to make it out, and Richie what? Just fucking gave all that up? Drank himself into an early grave while Eddie has been here pining for him?

“Seriously?! Are you serious Rich? You died by drinking yourself to death in that shitty Hawaiian shirt? You are such a mess, I swear I don’t know how you managed to outlive me.”

His fists are shaking in anger when he sees Richie reaching for him. He almost lets him until his eyes are drawn to the flaky, rust colored specks dried on Richie’s fingertips. He jumps back shouting.

“Don’t touch me! Is that blood on your hands?! Don’t you fucking touch me, Trashmouth. I mean it.”

The bottle drops to the floor with a heavy thud. At the sound, Eddie looks to it and sees that it’s more full than he would have expected. Richie can’t even be drunk, really, if that was the first bottle. He snaps his eyes to Richie’s, trying to assess his sobriety when he sees them start to fill with tears.

“Eddie?” Richie says questioningly. Eddie feels his anger slip away as Richie’s shoulders shake with barely contained sobs. 

He moves closer, speaking softly, trying to calm Richie down and Richie just breaks. He closes the last bit of space between them and presses his tearstained face to Eddie’s neck. Eddie can feel his hand slip under his shirt to touch his gash-free chest. He wraps his free arm around Richie’s back, pulling him closer, stroking his hair as Richie pulls himself back together.

Finally, Richie takes a deep, steady breath and steps back from the embrace. He looks like he is about to say something, but before he can, Georgie steps out from behind Eddie’s back.

Eddie can’t help the smug smile he flashes as Richie says, “Georgie?”

They move back into the lounge, Eddie and Richie in armchairs while Georgie continues the puzzle from the floor. Eddie tells Richie how he found himself in Derry, again, and explains meeting up with Georgie and moving into the Townhouse.

“Wait, so after discovering you were stranded in the dullest incarnation of Derry for the duration of the afterlife with only a seven year old for company, you decided to move into a shitty motel?”

“Richie, language!” Eddie chastises before explaining. “It’s the only place I could be sure was clean enough. At least here I can be sure they clean the rooms every day.” He sees a flicker of something cross Richie’s face. Just for a second, but it was enough. “What? What is it? Go ahead, make the joke. Is it about my mom? The germs?”

“Trust me, Eds. I really, really, don’t think you want to know.” Eddie’s chest grows warm at the familiar nickname.

“Don’t call me that, asshole.”

Richie explains how he ended up in their closet, not- as Eddie had originally assumed- by dying.

“Wait, so you’re telling me there is a door into the underworld beneath Derry’s only three-star hotel?”

“Eds, I’m not even sure Derry really has a hotel.”

They laugh for a moment before Eddie’s face grows serious. “Do you think we’ll be able to leave with you?”

“Fuck yes you can. I hope you like company, because I am never letting you out of my sight again.” Richie says, like it’s a universal certainty that they are going back together.

Richie stands up, slapping his hands on his thighs as he goes.

“Alright, gang. It’s time we get out of here and back to reality. What do you say we head upstairs and get you guys packed?”

At the prospect of resurrection, Eddie rises to his feet. He sends Georgie to pack his favorite toys, before starting up the stairs.

Richie follows him and, after passing him at the top, flings open the second door on the right. Eddie can see the confusion in his profile. 

“Dude, where’s your stuff?”

“Uh.” Eddie flushes. “Well, I chose a different room this time. I didn’t want to sleep where I got stabbed, you know?”

He turns and walks down the hall, stopping in front of the room he was currently staying in. The one that may have once held Richie Tozier.

Eddie opens the door and they walk in. The room is, of course, incredibly tidy, Georgie’s drawings pinned up on the windowsill and Eddie’s novels organized alphabetically on the bookshelf. This is, of course, not what Richie focuses on.

“Is that my boombox?” Richie exclaims, laughing. “Eds, I always knew you were jealous of my setup, but really? You broke into my house and stole my boombox and.. fuck, all of my mix tapes too?”

“Fuck you, man! I’m dead! I figured I’d give it back if you got here, idiot.” Eddie retorts, while trying to slyly inch toward the bedside table to hide the most embarrassing thing he’d stolen from Richie’s house. 

It doesn’t work, Richie has always kept his eyes on Eddie and this time is no different. He follows Eddie’s gaze and zips across the room, snatching up the picture frame before Eddie could stop him.

“Who do we have here? Is my cute little Eddie-bear keeping a picture of his wife to whack…” Richie trails off as he turns the frame around. Eddie can’t look at his face. Doesn’t want to see what Richie thinks of Eddie keeping his high school graduation portrait in his room. He hadn’t been able to help himself, back when he and Georgie were taking the tapes. As he was carrying them down the stairs of Richie’s childhood home he’d seen it hanging on the wall and grabbed it, unable to resist the chance to keep some part of Richie with him. The two men stand there for a few seconds, frozen.

Richie, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the silence.

“Soooooo, you missed me that much?” It sounds like the start of a joke, but Eddie can’t turn his face back, is too busy trying to push the fire out of his cheeks to check the expression on Richie’s face.

It feels like the moment is going to stretch on forever, Eddie trying not to die of embarrassment while Richie’s gaze bores into him.

“I’m gonna…” Richie trails off and tries again. “I’m gonna do something here, Eds, and if you don’t like it then I’m going to blame the whiskey, okay?”

Eddie starts to look over, opening his mouth to retort that the bottle had been way too full for Richie to be drunk, when Richie finishes with “I’d say no homo, but…” and wraps his hands around Eddie’s face, slotting their lips together.

For a brief moment Eddie is frozen in shock. Eddie is short circuiting because Richie just kissed him. Richie is still kissing him. 

Richie starts to pull away, and suddenly Eddie snaps into action. He slides his fingers into that soft curly hair he remembers so well from childhood, pinkies bumping against the arms of Richie’s glasses, and hauls him back in. Richie moans, his hands finding their way to Eddie’s hips as Eddie works his tongue into his mouth. 

The kiss continues and Eddie starts walking Richie backwards until his knees hit the bed. He breaks it with a sudden push, sending Richie sprawling across the sheets.

Eddie climbs on top of him, knees on either side of that long torso and says “Fuck you and your stupid trashmouth and your dumb smile and your huge fucking hands.” Eddie twines their fingers together and pins said hands on either side of his head.

He leans in to continue the kiss but before he can Richie gets out “I was thinking I’d fuck you, but if you insist Spaghetti-Man.”

Eddie snarls and closes the rest of the distance. He slams their mouths together, teeth clacking for a moment before they get back their previous rhythm. He can feel Richie smiling into the kiss and frees his hands, moving them down to tug free the end of Richie’s belt while Richie’s hips snap up, almost unseating him.

“Eds, are you- Is this-” Richie tries to ask while his hands start in on buttons of Eddie’s shirt.

“I have been in love with you since we were twelve years old, Richie. I fucking died before we got to do this. I am not waiting another second.” At this Eddie rips Richie’s belt free and starts in on the button of his jeans. He glances up at Richie’s face and finds him staring up at him with pure awe shining in his eyes, glasses askew and pupils blown. “What?!” He asks self-consciously.

Richie’s warm hands move from where they had been inching Eddie’s shirt off his shoulders up to frame his face before he says “Ditto, baby.”

Eddie can feel the look of incredulous irritation cross his face and when he sees Richie’s wide grin he knows he is playing exactly into his hands. He lets Richie pull him into a kiss anyway, because he knew what he was signing up for when he chose Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie is the luckiest man on earth (or wherever they are right now).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Discussions of Stan's suicide.

Richie can’t believe it, he can’t fucking believe it. Eddie is here, alive, on top of him, and apparently just as in love with Richie as Richie is with him.

He can’t stop staring up at the smaller man. He runs his eyes from his perfect hair to the smattering freckles that followed him into adulthood and ends at the whole smooth skin of his sternum.

Richie plans to go back to stripping Eddie, but first he takes a minute to worship his unbroken chest. Richie trails his lips up and down that soft, hairless skin and wonders how he got so lucky.

“I wanted it to be me.” He murmurs there. Needing Eddie to know the truth. To know that Richie had been so lost in the world without him. “I wanted it to be me so badly, Eds, I did. I tried to stay with you, but the others wouldn’t let me. Kept pulling me to make sure I wouldn’t follow you.”

He can feel the tears starting to pool in his eyes again, so he takes a nipple into his mouth, distracting himself with the feeling of Eddie’s hands tightening in his hair and the sound of his sharp gasp.

“I’m glad they did.” Eddie says. “I was so mad when you first showed up here, Richie. I thought you hadn’t gotten to live a full life.”

Richie tilts back up for another kiss and grins. “I think you might have objected to this if I was old and gray.”

They make out for another few minutes, hands starting to wander south when a voice from the doorway interrupts.

“Are you guys done yet?” 

Eddie throws himself off Richie, hands flying up to close his shirt as Richie pulls a pillow into his lap.

“The lights are turning off outside.” Georgie, with a faded school bag slung over his shoulder, points to the window behind them.

Richie turns to look and sure enough, the afternoon sunlight is completely gone. The only thing that remains is an inky black mist drifting in through the open window.

“Well that can’t be good.” Richie says, and Eddie’s fingers pause in their frantic buttoning to glance at his face before following his gaze.

“We need to go.” Eddie lunges off the bed, grabbing the backpack off Georgie’s shoulder and opening drawers. Richie buttons his pants as the other man stuffs the bag full to the seams with clothes for them both before turning back and ordering, “Move it!”

The mist is halfway to the bed when Richie lurches up, grabbing Eddie’s hand and dragging him from the room. He lifts Georgie onto his hip along the way. In the hall, dark tendrils are making their way across the scuffed oak floor, flowing in from both ends to meet in the middle. Richie is picking his way down the staircase when Eddie tugs on his hand, turning backward.

“Wait, I forgot the toothbrushes!”

Richie yanks him back into motion. “Babe, I’m not gonna lie. I’m pretty sure you are the sole reason I have a huge mysophobia fetish, but now is really not the time.” The void had spread to consume the top of the stairs, and a quick glance above shows that the ceiling is gone as well, nothing left but rolling black clouds inching ever closer.

As they cross the landing Richie can see that the front door is gone, and so is the bar. Miraculously there is still an open path to the closet he came in through, but it’s closing fast.

They jump the last few steps, darkness nipping at their heels as they sprint the final feet to the door. Richie all but shoves Eddie out, slinging himself through behind him. He turns back to see wispy curls sneaking into the tunnel and grabs the handle, slamming the heavy door shut and blocking the flow.

He pauses and stares but door seems to be holding back the mist. They lean against the wall of the tunnel, chests heaving as they catch their breath. As his heart rate slows, Richie turns to Eddie and opens his mouth, joke already growing on the tip of his tongue.

“What’s a fetish?” Georgie’s high voice cuts him off from where he sits on his hip. Richie looks from Eddie to Georgie and back, taking in Eddie’s growing scowl and Georgie’s wide-eyed curiosity.

“Richie Tozier! I am going to wash your mouth out with soap, so help me.”

“Eddie, stop flirting with me in front of the kid.”

Eddie’s face goes red with anger for a second before his twitching lips win out. He starts giggling before bending over and giving in to full belly laughs. Eddie’s laughter is contagious and Richie catches it fast, tears of relieved humor streaming down his face as he braces himself on Eddie’s arm.

When they calm down, he steps away from the door and leads the way into the blackness.

  
  
Richie can’t believe how good it feels to have Georgie in his arms. Even as his arms grow tired and the fingers of his left hand fall asleep, he can’t find it in him to put the boy down.

He’d forgotten, in all of the terror of their first encounter with It, how much he loved Bill’s younger brother. Georgie had been another thing they shared, like mixtapes and comics. He was a little brother to all of them, and Richie never wanted to let him go.

Growing up he never minded when Georgie tagged along with them. He didn’t care if he had to explain things that were obvious or play baby games. The younger boy would always laugh at his jokes, even when the others beep-beeped him, giggles rising up and filling the space around him. When Richie spoke, Georgie would always give him all of his attention, staring at Richie like he was telling him the secrets of the universe.

When Georgie went missing he had been so angry with Bill, forcing them out day after day to look for him. Why couldn’t Bill let him go? Why did he have to drive these sharp thorns into Richie by reminding him of their loss? Richie knew he was dead. He knew it and he just wanted to forget.

Now, arms heavy with the weight of the sleepy child, his soft breaths on his shoulder, and the warm feeling of Eddie by his side Richie finally feels right. Their presence chases the shadows of the tunnel away.

It feels like no time at all before they emerge back in the center of the mine. The two carts are still gently pressed together where he had left them.

“Jesus, Rich. How the hell did you know where to find us?” Eddie asks, looking at the multitude of spokes leading back out into the tunnels. He continues before Richie can respond, “I fu-udging hope you know which one of these you came in through, I swear to god Richie.”

Richie takes a second to process the question. The first, not the second, he isn’t a complete fucking idiot. He had picked at random, hadn’t he? He thought he had, but he has to admit it is strange that the first path he took led him straight to Eddie.

It sounds romantic, the idea that all paths lead to Eddie but he knows that isn’t it. Something in him always looked that way first. It happened when he was a kid, it happened here in the tunnels, and it had even happened at the Chinese restaurant when he avoided what he instinctively knew was his own seat.

“No. No, no, no, fuck, no.” Richie turns around in a circle, counting the openings.

“Richie?! Richie you better be messing with me right now. I am going to lose it, Richie, I am going to lose it right now if you actually managed to get us lost!” Eddie shrieks, grabbing Richie’s shirt and swinging him around to face him. “I don’t know what’s after being dead, asshole, but you are about to find out.”

Richie doesn’t answer for a moment, staring, eyes wide into Eddie’s own. Seven openings. It matched. Bev’s cart one track over from his own. Eddie’s tunnel directly to his left. If he had waited for the others, would they have all found themselves in their own carts, riding down to meet here in the center? Against his will, he finds his eyes drawn to the left. To the tunnel between Mike’s and Ben’s.

“Shit,” he says, sliding Georgie into Eddie’s arms. “I’ve got something I need to do.”

He takes Eddie by the hand and leads him to the cart with _ Trashmouth _written inside. “If I’m not back in an hour, get in and it will take you to the surface.”

“Richie, what-” Eddie starts. But Eddie’s always been quick. He looks in the cart, looks over into Bev’s, and catches on. “We can come with you. You don’t need to go back alone, Richie.”

“Someone needs to make sure Georgie makes it out. And I have no idea how long I’ve been down here. If the other Losers come searching for me, one of us needs to be here to show them the way.”

Richie starts to walk away before snapping back around.

“Cover your eyes, little dude.” He orders Georgie before framing Eddie’s face in his warm palms and giving him a quick, fierce kiss. After taking in Eddie’s blushing face one more time, he turns and heads out.

“I’m a risk analyst, Trashmouth! This whole hero act is not winning me over at all.” Eddie calls out before he’s out of sight.

Richie looks over his shoulder to see the brunette scowling at him while Georgie waves. Cute, cute, cute.

  
This time there is no door. The smooth expanse of the walls just slowly changed as he pushed forward. Gradually, seams appear in the concrete, seams that turn into larger and larger gaps. Walls transition into rounded pillars and as the ambient light grew ever brighter Richie finds himself walking down a dirt trail in a forest.

Unlike with Eddie, Stan isn’t in sight. Richie spends a few minutes wandering aimlessly before the growing sound of birdsong tells he’s on the right track. Trudging across the fallen leaves and pine needles, he sees a curly haired man in a button-down and slacks peering up through a pair of binoculars.

He walks up behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Stan the Man! Just the guy I was looking for.”

Stan reluctantly pulls his binoculars from his face and looks at Richie briefly in confusion before his face clears.

“Oh. You got old, Richie.” Richie pulls a face and Stan adds, “I’d ask if you were here to watch the birds, but I don’t feel like listening to you rip on me when I can keep listening to those Warblers.”

“Yeah, everyone knows you’re a boring fuck, Stan.” It’s Stan’s turn to look irritated as Richie starts tugging on his arm. “Now ándale! I came here to get you out, man. We gotta go.”

“Go where, Richie? We are standing in an endless forest. I’ve walked everywhere. There is nowhere to go.”

“Maybe for you, Stannie-boy, but I came in the back door of this here great beyond and I sure as shit plan to pull out.” Richie rubs his hands together and winks.

Stan looks briefly distracted by disgust and Richie grabs his arm again.

“Seriously, let’s get going. Eddie and Georgie are waiting, but we don’t have much time.”

Stan visibly starts at the mention of Georgie, but his expression transitions to stubborn refusal as he rips his arm out of Richie’s grip.

“Let go, Richie. This is Gehenna. I’m here to wait out the cleansing of my soul. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

Richie reaches out to grab him again, frowning as he backs away. “Dude, I don’t think you understand-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Stan explodes. “God, Richie you never understand this stuff. I am lucky to be here. I killed myself. I abandoned Patty and left you guys to die in It’s lair like a fucking coward.”

He rips his binoculars over his head and throws them to the ground.

“I couldn’t even face you guys. I knew. I knew if I went back, if I spoke to Mike or Bill, I’d go. I’d go into those tunnels and it would get me again and I just couldn’t! I just fucking couldn’t. So I bailed and I killed you. I killed all of you.”

Stan is crying now. His face contorting into a mixture of sorrow and guilt. He turns his face away, staring into the trees.

Richie puts a hand on either side of Stan’s chest and pushes, forcing him to take another step back.

“You killed us? What, you think you’re that important, man?” Stan’s face snaps back to his. “Fuck you, dude. You think we blame you for dying? I must have considered it a thousand times on my way back to Derry. Hell, I tried to leave at least three times before we even entered Neibolt.”

“I don’t give a shit that you offed yourself, and neither should you. We beat that fucking clown, man. We fucking beat it.”

“Wait, what?” Stan’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, and I read your note, so I know you already did the math. You knew your own limits so you took yourself off the board. You told me to tell the truth, so here it is. You didn’t kill anyone, Stan. If what you wrote was true, you might have saved us all.”

Stan stared at him in silence. There was nothing but the harsh sound of their panting breath echoing through the woods.

“You mean it? You really killed Pennywise?”

Richie grins. “Yeah, we did. We really fucking did.”

Stan whoops, throwing his arms into the air before grabbing Richie’s. He dances them in a circle, laughing up at the sky.

“Holy shit! Holy shit, I can’t believe it.”

His laughter continues for a few joyous minutes before fading off.

“Wait, then what happened to you? Why are you here, Richie?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, dude! I’m not dead. I found a door in my hotel that apparently leads into the underworld and I’m here to get you out of here.”

Richie holds out his hand one last time, smiling as Stan finally takes it. Stan looks around in confusion.

“Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah, Stan?”

“Didn’t there used to be more trees here?”

Richie looks around and sees the forest is thinning. The same fog that took Eddie’s Derry comes lapping around the trunks.

“Oh, shit. Time to go!”

He yanks Stan back toward the dirt path, racing the void behind them. Richie finds the reddish brown trail that marked his way in and cuts down it, dodging the trees in front of him. It’s only when his footsteps start echoing that he realizes they’ve left whatever afterlife Stan had constructed. Richie starts to slow, but Stan slams an arm into his back hustling him forward.

“Why the fuck are you stopping, Richie?! That can’t be anything good.”

Turning around Richie sees that the darkness is matching their pace. It’s not stopping at the forest but continuing on, consuming the walls of the tunnel as they sprint forward.

“Well that didn’t happen the last time.”

Richie and Stan run down the tracks, feet crunching on gravel. The push and pull each other on, running further than Richie thinks he’s run in the last twenty years. When Richie sees the muted light of the junction ahead, he starts shouting, “Go! Eddie, run! Run!”

They burst into the open space to see the other passages spewing emptiness and Eddie hitching Georgie up into his arms. “Richie!” Georgie cries, arms reaching over Eddie’s back as he begins running into Richie’s opening, the only one still visible.

“I’m here. I’m here, I’m right behind you.” Richie gasps, clutching the stitch in his side and sprinting to catch up with Eddie before the darkness can block the way. He and Stan have just passed the carts when the spewing tendrils of void meet in the center of the space, inches behind their feet. They make it into the tunnel and this time it seems much shorter than when Richie rode in the cart. He spares a minute to ask himself how slow that thing was really moving before his feet draw him even with Eddie.

Eddie flashes him a smile, hands tightly clutching Georgie to his chest, and looks over to Stan. “Hey, Stan. Long time no see.”

Stan is short of breath but clearly in better shape than Richie since he manages to puff out, “What’s a quarter century between friends?”

Richie can see the door up ahead, a bright rectangle of light in the darkness. He doesn’t dare glance behind him now, the shortening echoes telling him it’s going to be close. They are closing the distance fast, and Eddie and Stan are both hurtling through the opening ahead of him. Richie feels a sudden breeze on his left foot as he vaults the threshold. Stan is already at the door and quickly slams it behind them.

They stand there, panting in the bright light of the Townhouse chandelier. Richie looks down to see that his left heel is fully exposed. A clean cut line in the rubber sole is all that remains of the back of his favorite chucks.

“I guess I should’ve listened when my doctor told me to do more cardio.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing people back from the dead is a lot easier than Richie would have imagined.

Richie wakes up sweaty and too hot, sandwiched between two bodies. He reaches out and grabs his glasses off the nightstand, squinting in the morning sunlight. 

Eddie is spooned up behind him, arm casually slung across his hips while Georgie fists his shirt, drooling onto his neck.

He basks for a moment in the feeling of being smothered by the people he loves before his bladder urges him out of bed. He untangles himself from Georgie without waking him up, but as he slides down the bed and out of Eddie’s hold, Eddie turns.

“Hrmn, ‘Chee?”

“Hey, I’m gonna go get us some breakfast. Go back to sleep, Spagheds.”

Richie leans up from the bottom of the bed and gives him a quick kiss before heading off to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Last night, after the punch drunk high of beating death had worn off, Richie had opened his phone to see that they were in the very early hours of the morning. He stole some more keys from behind reception and shooed everyone up the stairs.

As they split off to go to bed, Eddie had reached out and grabbed Richie’s sleeve, dragging him to the room he shared with Georgie and ignoring Stan’s knowing look.

Now, Richie shuts the door gently behind him and heads out of the Townhouse, luxuriating in the feeling of the sun on his skin and the people chattering outside.

He comes back with a tray of coffee cups in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. Georgie is sitting in the bar on a stool, swinging his feet. His face lights up as he catches sight of the unhealthy breakfast.

“Are those doughnuts?! Eddie never lets me have doughnuts.”

Richie passes him one, grabbing another for himself and sitting down beside him.

“What Spaghetti doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt us. Right, Pipsqueak?”

Georgie eyes the empty second floor landing for a moment before tapping their doughnuts together. 

“Okay.”

They chow down for a few moments, Georgie keeping a cautious eye out for Eddie, before Richie asks.

“Where is Eddie, anyways?”

“He said he had to call somebody.”

Richie takes a strong pull of his coffee as he considers this.

“Did he say who?”

“I don’t know.” Georgie says with a shrug. “Hey, can you make a story with your Voices? I’m bored.”

Richie obliges, trying to take his mind off the churning in his gut at the very real possibility that Eddie is on the phone with his wife. He wouldn’t blame him if he went back. There is a big difference between kissing the only other adult in the world and choosing to be with Richie long term.

They finish their breakfast, Richie halfway through his coffee when Eddie comes bouncing down with a spring in his step. He comes over to them, not stopping at the empty stool, instead crowding into Richie’s space and giving him a quick kiss.

“Just got off the phone with my lawyer.”

Richie hides his relief with a joke. “And that’s what gets you going? Oh, Eds. The fun we are going to have.”

“Shut up! And how many times to I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” Eddie snaps, exasperated. “I am trying to tell you that the divorce I started before I died went through, you absolute idiot.”

Richie is stunned. He sits there for a moment, processing this information.

“Wait, you left your wife before you came back to fight an ancient evil living under your childhood town?”

The shorter man wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, dragging him down to press their foreheads together.

“I left my wife the minute I saw you sitting in that restaurant, Richie.”

A smile spreads across Richie’s face until it threatens to split in half. He slides his hands down to cup Eddie’s hips.

“I guess that makes you all mine then, babe.”

“I guess so, Trashmouth.” Eddie’s deep brown eyes are staring into his and he can’t pull away, trapped in that magnetic gaze. The moment could have gone on forever if not for Georgie.

“Does that mean you’re marrying Richie?”

Richie starts and then pulls back to stare at Eddie, waiting for a reply, mentally preparing a joke if he seems against it.

Eddie laughs and says, “Richie hasn’t even asked me, Georgie! We’ve only been dating for twelve hours.”

His heart is going to explode. He feels his palms start to sweat, but he knows he has to say it.

“I’m going to though, Eds. You’re it for me. You know that, right?” Eddie looks at him, astonished, before giving him another short, sweet kiss. Then he pulls away and smirks at him.

“I’ll save my answer for when you do. And, for the love of god, stop calling me Eds.”

  
  
“Well aren’t we domestic so early in the morning.” Stan says as he enters the room, interrupting Eddie’s rant about complex carbohydrates and the dangers of sugary breakfasts on growing children.

“Hey, Staniel. Sleep well?” Richie flashes him a grateful look behind Eddie’s back.

“Can’t complain. Speaking of, you got any clothes I can borrow? Unlike Eddie, I didn’t exactly have time to pack an overnight bag.”

Richie tosses him his room key and Stan heads back upstairs.

When he comes back down, dressed in one of Richie’s old tour shirts and a slightly too long pair of jeans, he has a bemused expression on his face.

“So, are we going to talk about the bloody shower curtain in the bathroom, or does that come standard with the room?”

He starts to reply, but before gets a word in Eddie yelps, “What?! Which room?” He doesn’t wait for either of them to answer because Richie’s guilty expression gives it away.

“So you’re telling me that last night I slept in a dirty bed, on sheets that haven’t been washed in at least a month?!”

“Well, technically, since you and Georgie were living here in the otherworld, you’ve been sleeping on dirty sheets since you died?” Richie cringes, already preparing himself for the explosion to follow.

“That does not make it better at all, Trashmouth! Oh my god. Oh my god. Were the towels folded when you got here? If they weren’t folded then that means we aren’t even getting clean after bathing, we are just drying ourselves in filth. Oh my god.” Eddie says, hyperventilating, and wrapping his arms around himself. 

Richie can’t help it, he just tilts his head up and laughs. “This is why I didn’t tell you. I told you yesterday. You really didn’t want to know.”

The smaller man punches him in the arm. “Stop laughing, asshole. It’s not funny. I let Georgie sleep on dirty sheets!”

“I’m fine.” Georgie pipes up from his stool, where he has been watching the interaction like its a tennis match, face ping ponging between them. “My towel had a stain on it, but it was all folded up, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a screech of rage before catching sight of the teasing smile on the boy’s face.

“Are you- Are you messing with me right now?”

Richie leans over and gives him a high five. “That’s my man, little man.” They turn and give Eddie identical grins.

“How is this possible? How have you already managed to corrupt him, Richie?! It hasn’t even been a day!” Eddie presses his face into his hands, exasperated.

“Hate to interrupt the whole ‘happy family’ thing you guys have going on, but can I borrow a cell phone?” Stan chimes in. “I need to… I really need to call Patty.”

The room sobers and Richie fishes his iPhone out of his pants pocket. As he passes it over he asks, “How are we going to do this anyways? I mean, the three of you are all pretty legally dead, you know?”

“Am I? The state of New York clearly hasn’t gotten the memo if my lawyer was able to take care of my divorce.” Eddie points out.

“Well, I reported you dead in a house collapse, so I think I would know.” Richie says, a distressed frown crossing his features as he remembers the events leading up to that moment.

Eddie grasps his hand and gives it a quick squeeze, bringing him out of his reverie.

“We should at least try and get Georgie marked as found. I think his is still an open missing person case.”

“Oh, that’s going to be fun. ‘Hey, I found this kid that I knew back when I was 12 while I was exploring the sewers after my friend thought I died.’ Who wouldn’t believe that?” Richie scoffed, but he didn’t have any better ideas so they made plans to head to the police department.

“I still have my wallet with my ID, but maybe I should bring my birth certificate too. If they haven’t cleaned my room, then it’ll still be in my suitcase upstairs. I’ll just run and get it.”

Richie’s face goes through a series of complicated expressions before he says, “About that. I may have taken your suitcases back to LA with me after… after everything.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

Richie looks down to their still clasped hands and sighs. “I just wanted to be sure that I would remember you this time. And there was no you to remind me.”

Eddie pulls him in for a hug, stroking his back and saying, “This time I’m not going anywhere.”

They gather up Georgie and prepare to leave, waving to Stan as he takes the phone upstairs with a “wish me luck.”

  
  
The apathy of the Derry police department is downright astonishing. Richie knows he really shouldn’t be surprised after he axed a man in the head a month ago and got off with a stern look and mutters about paperwork, but somehow it still shocks him.

When Richie walks through the station doors, one arm wrapped around the shoulders of a man he had personally declared dead and the other carrying a missing child from thirty years ago, he expects at least a few difficult questions. Instead the cop manning the desk just sighs and pulls out a stack of forms. 

Bringing Eddie back to life turns out to not even need those.

Apparently in Derry, unexplained deaths are so commonplace that the backlog for submitting reports to the county went back over a decade. The investigating officer just grabbed Eddie’s form, already buried under a dozen others, and dropped it through a shredder, shooting Eddie the evil eye for wasting his time.

Taking care of Georgie is a bit more involved.

“This your kid then?”

The bored officer before them looks like he should be in a nursing home rather than sitting behind the desk of the dingy interrogation room they had been crammed into for the last three hours. He is the third to question them, and Richie wonders if he sounds familiar because he’s old enough to be his grandfather or because he is repeating the same damn questions the other two had asked them.

Georgie had long ago given up paying attention and is tuning out the droning adult conversation. Sitting in Richie’s lap with his head on his shoulder, he is entertaining himself by playing some overly complicated version of pattycake with Eddie. Richie kind of wants to do the same.

“No, I just said he is Georgie Fucking Denbrough. He has been missing since 1989 for fuck’s sake! I appreciate the cred you are giving 13 year old me, here, I really do, but Jesus. At least do the math, man.” Richie scoffs, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. “I don’t know what you want from me here. I just want to take these two back to my hotel and get some fucking sleep.”

The geriatric policeman eases out of his slouch at the table, his face taking on a serious expression at last.

“Look kid.” Richie, rather politely, did not point out that a man in his forties was only a kid to someone with one foot in the grave. “If you want to take the boy out of this station you need to produce an air-tight legal guardian. The state isn’t as understanding as Derry. It doesn’t take kindly to missing children coming back looking exactly the same thirty years later. So, one last time. Is the child yours?”

“I don’t know how many more ways I can tell you that there is no way on earth that this kid is-” Eddie elbows him sharply in the ribs, causing him to huff out a soft “Shit, Eds.” He could feel Georgie grinning into his collar bone. He really needs to stop fucking swearing.

“Suppose Georgie was ours.” Richie’s brain trips for a second on the casual way Eddie said ‘ours’ before jumping back into the conversation. “We would need to get valid copies of our son’s birth certificate. People expect these kinds of things; schools, auditors, the DMV.”

Richie rides the high of Eddie thinking about them long term before everything clicks. He remembers now where he’d seen this aging irish cop before.

This was the guy. The one adult in his fucked up childhood who’d ever believed anything was going on back in ’89. The officer who, in high school, caught him smoking weed behind the library and told him it was a no smoking zone before walking away grumbling about ‘stupid kids.’ He’s the inspiration behind one of the only Voices Richie had managed to keep in his material over the years, a no nonsense cop stuck in a full nonsense life.

Officer Nell cracks a lopsided grin. “Well, the records in Derry are notoriously hard to keep track of. I suppose if we can’t track down the original, we’d have to issue him a new one. Very careless of you to lose that kind of paperwork, you know. Makin’ a lot of work for a lot of people.”

“Richie can be such a mess sometimes. Most days I think he can only find his tongue because it’s strapped to the inside of his mouth. I don’t think anyone would be surprised that he managed to lose something this important.” Eddie snarks, a soft smile belying the insult.

Officer Nell clicks his pen, and Richie shortly finds himself the co-parent of a seven year old child.

  
  
Richie and Eddie walk back into the Townhouse hand-in-hand, Georgie securely perched on Richie’s hip. The scene that greets them is less idyllic.

Stan is halfway down the stairs, arms out in a placating gesture. In the lobby, bags are strewn everywhere and the last members of the Losers Club are staring up in horror.

Ben is wielding Richie’s favorite armchair like it is Captain America’s shield, all sharp jabs and defensive maneuvers, while the rest of the group clusters behind him, shouting obscenities as if Stan is Pennywise himself.

Richie whistles loudly. “Hey guys, you better be ready to put fifty cents in the swear jar if you’re going to keep using that kind of language in front of the kid.”

In the sudden silence that follows he adds, “Eddie does not mess around with that shit, I already owe about $6.50 in back pay.”

“That’s $7 even, Trashmouth. Keep it up. I’m pretty sure you’re going to single-handedly pay for his college fund.”

“Oh.” Bev says. And the chair falls from Ben’s suddenly slack grip with a clatter.

Richie savors the shocked expressions of the others for a moment more before admitting, “I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.”

  
  
Richie leans back on the couch, arm thrown casually around Eddie’s shoulders. Bev catches his eye from where she’s sitting across from him and raises her brow. He winks and thrills in the resulting smile.

The Losers are arranged across the armchairs and couches in the lounge, and he and Stan have been taking turns catching everyone up about what had transpired over the last 24 hours.

“So, you’re telling me that the hall closet of this hotel opens into the underworld?” Mike asks deadpan, his emotions having shifted from horror to shock to finally settle on exasperated acceptance. It’s a common feeling when dealing with Richie.

“Well, I haven’t exactly opened it since the abyss tried to eat us, but it did last night.”

“And after entering said underworld, without us I might add, you decided to make a move on Eddie?” Ben asks, settling in to tease Richie.

“Haystack, I hardly think you’re one to talk about appropriate times to make a move. The water at the quarry isn’t that murky, that’s all I’m saying.”

After exhausting all questions, the group splits off, half to go pick up some pizza and beer for a post-resurrection celebration, and the rest staying at the hotel.

Bill, who had been sitting and silently staring at his now-living brother, asks, “Do you mind if I have some alone time with Georgie? I think- I think we have some things to discuss.”

Georgie, who had been staring right back, says, “You sound weird, Billy. Why aren’t you stuttering anymore?”

Richie claps Eddie on the shoulder and stands up. “Lets go, Spaghetti-Man. I want some alone time with you too if you know what I mean.”

He barks a laugh at the scowl his eyebrow wiggle gets and drags Eddie up to their shared room, grinning the whole way.

He barely gets the door closed behind them before Eddie slams him up against it, tongue urgently pressing at his lips. He opens and Eddie growls, devouring him with fierce, deliberate licks.

“No interruptions this time, Trashmouth. You’re mine.” Richie moans at smaller man’s possessiveness, rolling their hips together.

It takes some work, but he gets Eddie to let him shuffle them to the bed, mouths still glued together. He sits Eddie down and climbs into his lap, relishing at the chance to be so close to his man.

Richie slides his shirt off and mouths at his chest, sucking little marks onto that sweet, unbroken skin. Eddie’s hands wind their way into his hair, giving him little tugs of pleasure when he nips a a sensitive spot. He slides his hands lower, fingers tugging off Eddie’s belt and popping his button, reaching in to pull Eddie out.

“Is this okay?” He hesitates, looking into Eddie’s eyes.

“Richie, if you don’t get your hands on me this instant I am going to literally die. Again.” He pulls Richie up by the hair and kisses him hard on the mouth. It’s enough to get Richie back moving.

Richie uses the lotion from the bathroom to slick his hand up before reaching down and grabbing Eddie’s hard, silky member.

Eddie groans loud, biting down on the junction of Richie’s neck. He hisses and then gasps as Eddie starts sucking a hickey. He moves his hand, tugging a slow rhythm on Eddie’s dick.

“Faster, Rich.” Eddie mouths at his skin now and Richie can feel the mark blooming under his skin.

He speeds up his hand, sitting back so he can look into Eddie’s face, see the pleasure coursing through his body at every stroke. Eddie’s hips start thrusting in time with Richie’s hand.

“That’s right, baby. Are you feeling it?” Richie asks, as Eddie’s head falls back and he lets out a quiet moan.

Eddie is beautiful like this, flushed from cheeks to chest, pretty pink mouth open to take heavy, gasping breaths. Richie watches as he starts to shudder, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets.

Richie leans in to bite at his lower lip and then he’s coming. Thick ropes of white cum shooting up over Richie’s hand and onto his stomach. Richie works him through it until he grabs his wrist, the feeling too overstimulating for his post-orgasmic state.

Eddie smiles at him, all loose limbs and slow breathing, before rolling them over to return the favor. He makes quick work of Richie’s belt before starting in on the zipper, taking one of Richie’s nipples into his mouth while his hands are busy.

Eddie’s got Richie’s pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, when Richie stops him.

“We can take this slow. I don’t want to pressure you. I know you were married to a woman and you’re weird about germs and-”

“I really want to suck your dick right now, Richie.”

Richie smiles wide. He can’t help it. He says, “That’s so gay, Eds.” 

He watches the look in Eddie’s eyes as they flash with anger before his face contorts into a devious grin.

Then Eddie wraps his hand around the base of his dick, takes the head into his mouth, and Richie is not seeing much of anything. Hs eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure.

This might be Eddie’s first blowjob, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm. He sucks hard on the head, tongue straining down to meet his hand where it is fisting his dick.

“Shit, Spaghetti-Man.” Richie wraps his hand around the side of Eddie’s face, sliding his fingers up into silky hair.

Eddie hums before hollowing his cheeks, taking down another inch of Richie before sliding back up. He does that a couple more times before finding a rhythm, working his hand and mouth in tandem and driving Richie crazy.

“Fuck, Eddie. Fuck, it feels so good. You feel so good.”

Richie’s hips are making little aborted thrusts and Eddie leans an arm on them to keep him from pushing too deep into his throat.

“Shit. I can’t- Eddie. I can’t-”

He’s babbling now, glasses sliding down his face as he stares down at Eddie. He’s so close, so close, and when Eddie looks up and just fucking smirks at him he loses it.

Richie tugs on Eddie’s hair, but he keeps sucking and then the taller man is coming down Eddie’s throat while he swallows in audible glups.

When Eddie pulls off, a single strand of spit stretches and breaks on his swollen lips. He makes a face of disgust at the sensation.

“I think I need a towel.” Eddie rubs a hand through the mess still cooling on his stomach and cringes.

Richie kisses him on the mouth and runs to the bathroom, wetting a towel in warm water from the sink before coming back. He cleans Eddie up while smiling at him, pupils still blown.

  
  
They are cleaned up and mostly put back together again, Eddie’s fingertip gently tracing the wrinkles around Richie’s eyes, when there is a knock on the door.

“Uh, are you guys decent? I think you should probably come back down stairs.” It’s Stan.

As they exit the room, Richie turns to Stan.

“What, no comment?”

“What’s the point? I called this back in ‘92. The only thing that surprises me is how long it took you guys to get your shit together.”

“What can I say? I’ve always liked ‘em older. I mean, back when I was with Eddie’s mom-”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Stan shoves him a little and Richie grins. He still can’t believe he has this. His best friend, his younger brother, and his Eddie all here, alive, and with him.

When they get to the landing, they can hear the sound of a child sobbing. Eddie races down the steps, Richie fast on his heels.

In the lobby, Bill is squatting down, hands on the forearms of a struggling Georgie. Catching sight of Eddie, Georgie rips himself free and runs over, burying his tear stained face in the bottom of the older man’s button down.

“Georgie. Georgie, please.” Bill gets back to his feet and starts over. He stops when Georgie inches behind Eddie, still crying.

“What’s going on, guys?” Eddie asks, resting a hand on the distraught child’s head.

Georgie tilts his head back to gaze up at him. “You promised, Eddie. You promised and I don’t want to go. You said-” Another tear made its way down his cheek and he paused to rub it away. “You said I could stay with you as long as I wanted.”

As the subject of the disagreement becomes clear, Eddie looks over to Bill, visibly torn. “I did, but Bill is your brother. You don’t want to live with your brother?”

“The policeman said you and Richie are my dads now. I want to stay with you.” He wraps himself tighter around Eddie’s thigh and turns imploring eyes to Richie.

Richie sees Bill jolt at this and crouches down to speak directly to Georgie. He holds out his hands and Georgie takes them, sliding off Eddie and into a hug.

“You’re right, we did tell the officer that. And you can always stay with us, whenever you want to.” He looks up, making eye contact with Eddie to ensure this is okay before continuing, “We love you, Georgie.”

He stands up, Georgie in his arms before he adds, “Bill loves you too, though. And he has missed you so much.”

“Bill, I- It was years, Bill. We were a family for years before Richie found us.” Eddie explains as he looks at the older Denbrough’s betrayed expression. “When the police made it clear that Georgie would go into the system, it just made sense.”

Richie can see Bill waver between anger and understanding, so he adds, “He’s your brother first, before anything else. They’ve just been through a lot without the rest of us.” Richie runs his hand up and down Georgie’s back soothingly, feeling the hitch of his breath slow to something calmer.

The three adults look at each other for a few moments, trying to find a way to resolve this without conflict.

“Audra and I,” Bill starts, looking at his feet. “Audra and I have a house in LA that we use when she’s filming.”

Richie can feel the start of a grin forming on his cheeks. They’re going to be okay. “What part? I’m gonna be honest here, I was already planning on moving out of my apartment. If I don’t, Eddie’ll be in prison for homicide after he sees the state of the place.”

“What?! What’s wrong with your house, Richie? You know what, don’t answer that. I can already imagine. I saw the state of the bag you brought here. Do you even own a laundry machine?” Eddie starts in on him, prompting Georgie to turn his head out from where it was buried in the neck of Richie’s old t-shirt to face them.

Bill cracks a smile and holds out a hand, “So, neighbors, then?”

“Neighbors.” Eddie shakes it and they dissolve into conversations about school districts and holidays and healthy snacks for children while Richie and Georgie cuddle on one of the couches.

  
  
Once that had been decided there was still one more thing to take care of before they could leave Derry. Turns out, Stan had told Patty everything and she had caught the next flight out to see him with her own eyes. After breaking down at the sight of Stan returned from the dead, she met all of the Loser’s Club and listened as they verified the insane story Stan had told her over the phone.

“So, you saved your… boyfriend? And his son, and then went back for my Stan?” Patty asks Richie, eyes wide from the outrageous tale.

Richie shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention. “It’s what he would have done for me. It’s like they say, nobody leaves Stannie in a corner.”

He is shocked when she throws her arms around him, squeezing him into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispers into his neck. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

After they are sure that Patty believes them, and Patty manages to coerce Richie into a promise to visit Georgia, the Loser’s pack up, not wanting to spend another second in Derry. They make plans for the next reunion, this time in Florida at Mike’s, and fly back to their respective lives, Eddie and Georgie leaving with Richie to Los Angeles.

  
  
When they touch down in LAX, the turbulence jolting Georgie awake from where he’d been napping against the window, Richie checks his phone to see a slew of new messages in the group chat.

Bev Marsh   
_ richie. i just realized. _ __   
_ when we were planning our trip back to derry _ _   
_ __ didn’t you wish for like, a hot dude to meet you at the townhouse?

Micycle Hanlon   
_ .... I’m pretty sure he wished for a ‘hot piece of ass’ actually. _

Bev Marsh   
_ so richie willed eddie into existence _ _   
_ _ to get some? _

Ben Handsome   
_ Did anyone add Eddie to the chat? _

Micycle Hanlon   
_ I did. _

Stannie Man   
_ RIP Tozier. Thanks for saving me, will remember you always. _

Richie looks over to Eddie, who is packing up Georgie’s backpack while trying to touch as little of the airplane as possible. He smiles softly, already picturing the rant he is going to receive for objectifying him while attempting to harness the power of wishes or whatever.

He reaches over and takes his hand.

“I really love you, Eds.”

Eddie leans across the armrest and winds an arm around his neck, smiling against his lips.

“Ditto, Dumbass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue was originally going to be me wrapping up the loose ends. And then it turned into this beast.
> 
> Big thank you to everybody who read this fic to the end. It's the first thing I've ever written, but hopefully that wasn't too obvious to those reading it.
> 
> Hit me up in the comments if you are interested in reading more in this universe (multiverse?). I have some extra scenes planned that I will probably get around to posting and also an entirely unnecessary mockumentary sequel that wants to be written.


End file.
